


Hold Me By the Waist

by backintimeforstuff



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fluff, New Year's Kiss, Season/Series 05, non-canon adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backintimeforstuff/pseuds/backintimeforstuff
Summary: The four times the Doctor avoids the sloppy drunken kisses of Amelia Pond; and the once he doesn't quite manage it.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Amy Pond
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Hold Me By the Waist

The first time it happens, they’re standing out in the rain at the end of a meteor shower.

It’s one of those evenings where the end of the world seems right on their heels, so he supposes he can forgive her for a bit of spontaneity once they finally save it; that particular kind of jubilation that comes with surviving the demise of the universe. 

In any case, she’s currently off at some kind of celebratory party, for want of a better word – where the alcohol is endless and the music is deafeningly loud. It’s very typical of her, he thinks, very human, to celebrate life in such a way – twirling her arms above her head like some kind of praying mantis, survivalist in her element. The thought of it makes him smile.

Underneath the lamplight of the TARDIS, in the dusk of a suburban playing field, he waits for her, for God knows how long. Rain thunders down around him like the sky depends on it, trickling through his fringe and down the back of his neck. He debates waiting inside for her, drying off and sticking his feet up, but she’ll be past waterlogged by then, all dripping wet and grinning all over. It’s a sight he doesn’t want to miss. 

In any case, out here, when she eventually makes herself present, it’ll just be the two of them. 

Finally, he spots her.

“Doctor!” Amy throws up her arm in greeting as she makes her way across the park. Grinning loosely, a wine bottle swings from her left hand. “The world didn’t end!”

He rolls his eyes at the state she’s in before smiling right at her. “No, it didn’t. You had a good time?”

“The best.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” He’s about to turn to the doorway, fish the key out of his pocket when Amy pouts at him. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t even come. You’re no fun.”

He laughs quietly, eyeing her through the stormy weather. “That’s not you said when we first met.” 

He watches her think hard, running a hand through clumped hair. “Fish fingers, and what was it?”

“Custard, Amelia, it was custard.” He stares at her in acute disbelief, eyeing the wine bottle. “Blimey, how much have you had?”

“I lost count.” 

“Right, well – in that case,” he steps forward, putting an arm around her waist - “allow me to help you out a bit.” 

“Kiss me?”

Inches apart, the Doctor freezes. There’s a raindrop running the length of Amy’s nose, and he stares at it, unmoving, entirely lost for words. “I’m sorry?”

“Kiss me. Come on.” As the thunder rolls over, she’s almost expectant. “The world didn’t end. So, kiss me.”

“I –ugh – I’m not quite seeing the connection.” He doesn’t know quite why he’s lying to her. Perhaps tomorrow he might convince himself it was almost too human a request. Amy’s not letting him get off that easily. 

“You’re not supposed to see it – you’re supposed to feel-”

“Amelia.” He steadies her, putting his foot down. There’s a haziness in her eyes he won’t let himself take advantage of. 

Amy gives him a look. “Boring geography teacher.”

“Doctor’s orders.” 

She settles for a sloppy drenched hug instead.

\--- 

Some months later, out a glitzy Hollywood party where the Champagne is free flowing, it happens again. 

The Doctor can spot the look in Amy’s eyes from a mile off, that particular _catch me if you can_ gaze that’s thwarted more invasion forces than he cares to remember. Coupled with a wicked smile, it’s enough to end the universe. 

She seems to be thinking about something dangerous at any rate, something she’ll regret, or something he’ll end up flustering over. It’ll be like the night before the end of the world all over again, in fairy-light-strewn bedrooms with candy red jumpers clashing with the blue of the night sky. 

Glass in one hand, she’s standing right by him, curling her lips into a smile. Above them, the clouds glow with the pungent smell of 1946 – the good and the great having gathered to dance the night away before suburbia starts to kick in. The War’s finally in the history books, and well - 

He reckons it’s all gone a bit to her head. 

She’s titling her head at him like she’s trying him out, substituting him in wild fantasies behind glazed eyes. He offers her a small smile as she touches a hand to the sleeve of his jacket, wandering fingertips up his arm. What she’s going to do next might be in the lap of the Gods, but he’s still got a pretty good idea.

“You know what would really _make_ tonight?” Amy says, swilling the ice in her drink with a casual nonchalance, “You and me, if we were to-”

“You and _I_.” The Doctor corrects her, playing for time. There’s always a possibility she’ll forget her advances and go back to banging on about Gregory Peck.

Amy just rolls her eyes. 

She’s leaning in and he can feel it – smell it; smell the strawberry scented perfume she’d sprayed a cloud of in the TARDIS. He’s trying not to look at her sequin dress either, because he’s beyond convinced she can read minds in a mood like this. 

The last thing either of them need right now is for her to know he thinks she looks beautiful. Maybe he’ll tell her, later, when she’s back to drinking water and pineapple juice.

“You know, maybe we could…”

She’s got lust in her eyes and he’s entirely sure; she’ll be all over him if he doesn’t stop her.

At the very last second, with the gap between them getting shorter and shorter, the Doctor steps out of her way, diverting her into the embrace of the man standing right behind them. 

Lost in the moment, and considering the circumstances - garden lights flickering at dusk - the Doctor hopes Amy won’t mind. If it's anyone famous, at least she'll have a story to tell.

\---

The third time, well, the Doctor supposes he can hardly blame her. It may not be the end of the world, but it’s something just as excusable, just as out of her control, and… sort of entirely his fault, if he’s being truthful.

They’ve landed out in the far-flung future, on a planet so alien to her that the atmosphere itself seems to make her head spin. Sitting on a balcony in the inner city, where the night sky glows pink, she’s describing it as a sort of numbing sensation - a pleasant, if not disorientating, drunken state. 

“Feels like being gin-drunk, y’know?” 

“Hmm.” The Doctor says, watching her with slight disdain from the doorway.

“Like, you could do _anything_.” She swings her legs back and forth on the stone ledge, like a bored schoolchild behind a desk.

“Quite dangerous that.”

She just shrugs. “Wouldn’t stop _you_ trying.”

“Nor you, I would imagine.”

“Never ever.” She grins. “I was actually thinking about snogging someone up a wall.”

“Sorry, what?” He’s wondering if he’s heard her right. She just looks at him.

“Years ago, y’know, back when I was a kissogram? Did it for a living.”

The Doctor opens his mouth and closes it again. He knows he shouldn’t be leading her on into this conversation, especially on a night like this, but he can’t seem to find anything else to say. It turns out he doesn’t have to. 

“Sometimes I miss it.” Amy continues, narrowing her eyes at the memories that cross her mind. A thought comes to her. “Hey, come over here, will you?” 

“Not in your state, Amelia.”

She pouts at him. “It’s only the _atmosphere!_ ”

The Doctor almost scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll say. Dangerous things, sometimes.” He eyes her. “Just as you are.”

“Oh come on, it’s like you don’t trust me.”

“On the contrary Pond, I trust you with everything I have. I would happily put the entirety of space and time in your hands because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, it would be fine.” Without thinking about it, he walks out into the light from the safety of the doorway, picking out a constellation in the sky that he’d burn just to save her.

She might be completely out of her mind, insane at the best of times, but he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. 

It’s probably the wrong thing to think at a time like this. 

In his moment of distracted wondering, Amy takes it upon herself to take him by the lapels, forcing him to face her.

“Ah, now, Pond,” He says, his breath catching in his throat as she attempts to straddle him, closing the gap between them, “I wouldn’t-”

“Nor would I. Isn’t that sort of the point?”

She’s entirely out of it, he can tell, intoxicated by the sky they’re standing beneath.

As gently as he can, he tries to ease her off him, stepping back from vibrantly painted nails and the longest legs he’s ever seen. 

It’s not her fault, after all. 

\--- 

The fourth time, he doesn’t quite know where she gets the vodka from. 

They’ve been back in the TARDIS for what seems like hours now, after a non-descript trip to London in 1227. Whether she’s trying to relive a hazy Leadworth college party, he can’t quite say, but he knows wondering hands when he feels them – knows Amy well enough to know what she’s got on her mind.

She slings her arms around his waist when he’s standing in the kitchen, pushing them both up against the counter with an air of authority. Nails find shirt buttons, and he doesn’t think she knows quite what she’s doing. 

“Hello you.” She says, absentmindedly, picking at seams and breathing him in.

“Hello Pond. Up to anything good?” He has no idea why he’s even trying to distract her. She’s millimetres from him at best.

“This and that. You.”

“Ah, about that-” The Doctor starts, attempting to prize her hands off him.

“Marry me?” She pushes her head up on his shoulder.

“I’d have to think about that one.” She looks so convincing heartbroken that he has to bite back a laugh. “Not that I wouldn’t want to – ugh-” He falters, as she looks at him with a suggestive glazed look. “It would be entirely unprofessional.”

“Well, you’re more of a working-class hero to me.” She’s quiet for a moment. “We could compromise?”

He already knows what’s coming. 

“Amy, I-”

“Kiss me?” 

“Maybe when you’re older.” 

She tuts at the mere suggestion of it before he pulls away – forcing the moment to pass. Walking to the other end of the vacant breakfast table, he watches the disdain grow in her gaze.

“I’m not seven years old anymore, you know that, right?”

The Doctor shrugs. He doesn’t quite know why he’s choosing to reason with her - he knows she won’t remember it.

“It’s still one hell of an age gap.”

\---

All the times Amy has ever made her advances, be it inside the TARDIS or out on an escapade, the Doctor’s always been able to manage it.

He takes her by the waist - if she’s not there already – and tells her with a certain firmness that any drunken ideas she may have are entirely out of the question.

After all, she’ll only regret them later.

It’s only when the new year rings in over Trafalgar Square that things get out of hand. 

January 1st 1961, and the snow is falling. It’s coating everything, stone lions to church steeples, getting in the hair and drinks and of everyone choosing to lark around the fountains by Nelson’s column.

Amy’s having the time of her life, hanging around with party-dwellers on the brink of drunkenness and ecstasy. She’s chatting rather deeply to a group of young lads, her eyes glazing over by the minute. Surveying the scene from a distance, the Doctor watches her take the last sip of her drink. 

It’s almost funny, because he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised – she’s the only one he has eyes for. There must be a thousand people here, but it doesn’t seem to matter. 

Amy Pond, in all of her drunken unpredictability, is just as charming as she was when he first met her, all those years ago. She could tug on his sleeve as a seven-year-old and he’d be just as spellbound, just as intrigued by what she has to say.

“Saw you looking, mister.” She says, finally, when she comes to stand next to him. He’s been staring so deeply at her without really seeing that it almost takes him a moment to notice. She’s got that glint in her eyes again, the one which tells him she’s about to do something dangerous. 

“Yes.” He clears this throat. Well.”

“McCartney’s over there, says he wants a word about the royalties.” The wind whistles through the trees and she doesn’t seem phased at all. 

“Yeah, he would.” The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “Have you been talking about me?”

“I always talk about you.” Amy’s never been this frank before. “It’s like a gap year thing. Normal people, whenever they get the chance, they’ll tell you about Ibiza, or wherever, y’know, somewhere sticky where the sand gets everywhere.”

“But you don’t?”

“Nope.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, brushing off the snowflakes and toying with his shirt collar. “I tell people about all of time and space and a bloke in a funny blue box.” She thinks about it, lulling her head to the side, and laughs. “Maybe they think I’m crazy.”

“You _are_.”

He’s surprised she lets him get away with that one.

After a moment, when he reaches out to brush a stray snowflake from her cheek, Amy says:

“You know what’s coming, don’t you?”

The Doctor can’t help but smile. “I’ve got a feeling I do.”

“And?”

“And what?” 

“Will you let me get away with it this time?”

“Only because it’s Christmas.” 

It’s what he’ll tell himself later, he thinks, after the gap has closed between them.

When Amy’s run her hands through his hair and nails over bow ties – he’ll console himself – 

It was Christmas. And he loves Christmas. He loves her too, in a way. 

Perhaps it’s mostly inconsequential, all of this, anyway – for all the running down corridors and saving the world never changes. He’d left her to wait for more than half her life, and yet, here they are, sharing a night together. 

Kissing her isn’t going to change anything.

Perhaps that’s what Amy’s been thinking all along, out in the future, in the past, at parties, or on top of balconies where the sun shines the colour of cherry blossom.  
She may be influenced slightly by the alcohol, but she’s a quick thinker when it comes to it – quick, smart, and downright undeniable. 

Maybe that’s sort of the point. 

As the snow falls, she’s got hands in his hair and a kiss on her lips – and when they meet in the middle, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He can taste the alcohol and the lip gloss and her frankly outrageous perfume – and they might as well both be drunk at this stage – infatuated by the world, each other, and new year dawning across old London town.

When crimson fingernails find bow ties, he’s past minding - she’s sloppy and messy, but he loves it – just as he loves her, and all of her human unpredictability. Trust Amy Pond to look past the great and the good of planet Earth and fall for a man who’s massacred millions.

He almost laughs at that.

He supposes this is what being spellbound is like – all caught up and flustered by something you could never expect to fall for. He supposes it goes without saying. 

Eventually though, when they’ve leant up against a wall for so long that that their mouths are getting sore, they ease off each other. 

“Happy new year, Amelia.” He says, eyeing her as the clock strikes.

“Hold me by the waist?” she whispers, glazed over and entirely besotted.

He does.


End file.
